“Yes, yes; that’s it,” Jim broke in eagerly. Then he checked himself. Something in Eve’s manner gave him pause. “You see I––I wanted a woman’s ideas. I don’t want the house for a man. I–––”
He did not finish what he had to say. Somehow words failed him. It was not that he found it difficult to put what he wanted to say into words. Something in the girl’s manner checked his eagerness and drove him to silence. He, too, suddenly found himself staring out at the hills, where––Will worked.
47
For one fleeting instant Eve turned her gentle eyes upon the face beside her. She saw the strong features, the steady look of the dark eyes, the clean-cut profile and determined jaw. She saw, too, that he was thinking hard, and her woman’s instinct came to her aid. She felt that she must be the first to speak. And on what she said depended what would follow.
“Why not leave the house until toward the end of the two years? By that time you will have been able to talk it over with––the right person.”
“That’s what I want to do now.”
Jim’s eagerness leaped again. He thought he saw an opening. His eyes had in them the question he wanted to ask. All his soul was behind his words, all his great depth of feeling and love looked out at the rounded oval of her sweet face. He hungrily took in the beauty of her hair, her eyes, her cheeks; the sweet richness of her ripe lips, the chiseled roundness of her beautiful neck. He longed to crush her to his heart where they sat. He longed to tell her that she and she only of all women could ever occupy the hut he intended to build; he longed to pour into her ears his version of the old, old story, and so full was his great, strong heart, so overwhelming was his lover’s madness, that he believed he could tell that story as it had never been told before. But the question never reached his lips. The old story was not for his telling. Nor did he ask himself why. It was as though a power which was all-mastering forbade him to speak further.
“Have you seen Will to-day?” Eve suddenly inquired, with apparent irrelevance. “I half expected to–––” And she broke off purposely.
48
The look in Jim’s eyes hardened to one of acute apprehension.
“You were––expecting him?”
“Well, not exactly, Jim.” She withdrew her gaze from the distant hills, and, gently smiling, turned her eyes upon him. They were full of sympathy and profound kindness. “You see, he came here last night. And, well, I thought he said something about–––”
Jim started. A shiver passed through his body. He suddenly felt cold in that blazing sun. His eyes painfully sought the girl’s face. His look was an appeal, an appeal for a denial of what in his heart he feared. For some seconds he did not speak. There was no sound between them, but of his breathing, which had become suddenly heavy.
“Will––Will was here last night?” he said at last.
His voice was husky and unusual. But he dropped his eyes before the innocent look of inquiry in the girl’s.
“Why, yes; he spent the evening with me.”
In lowering his eyes Jim found them staring at the girl’s hands, resting in her lap. On one of them he noticed, for the first time, a gold band. It was the inside of a ring. It was on the third finger of the left hand. He had never seen Eve wearing rings before. Suddenly he reached out and caught her hands in his. He turned them over with almost brutal roughness. Eve tried to withdraw them, but he held them fast.
“That ring!” he exclaimed, hoarsely. It was in full view now. “It is Will’s. It was my father’s signet ring. I gave it to him. Where?––How–––? But no, you needn’t tell me, I guess.” He almost flung her hands 49 from him. And a wave of sickness swept over him as he thought.
Then in a moment all the passion of his heart rose uppermost in him, and its scorching tide swept through his body, maddening him, driving him. A torrent of words surged to his lips, words of bitterness, cruel words that would hurt the girl, hurt himself, words of hateful intensity, words that might ease his tortured soul at the expense of those who had always occupied foremost place in his heart.
But they were not uttered. He choked them back with a gasp, and seized himself in an iron grip of will. And, for some moments, he held on as a drowning man may cling to the saving hand. He must not hurt the girl, he must not wound her love by betraying his cousin. If Will had not played the game, at any rate he would. Suddenly, he spoke again, and no one would have suspected the storm raging under his calm exterior. Only his voice was hoarse, and his lips were dry, and the usually clear whites of his eyes were bloodshot.
“The boy has asked you, then?” he said slowly. And he waited for the death-knell of all his hopes, his love.
“Yes.” Eve’s voice was very low. Her gentle woman’s heart ached, for her instinct told her of the pain she was causing. “Last night he asked me to be his wife, and I––I love him, Jim, and so I consented.”
“Yes, yes.” There was weariness in the man’s voice now. It sounded almost as though he were physically weary. “I hope you will be happy, dear. Will’s––a good boy–––”
“Yes, and I asked him if you knew anything about it. 50 And he said, ‘No.’ He said it would be a little surprise for you––– You are not going?” Jim had suddenly started to his feet. “Won’t you wait for Will? He’s staying in the village. He said he’d be up to see me this morning––before he went out to the hills.”
Jim could stand no more.
“I’m glad you told me, Eve,” he said, almost harshly. “Will’s not good at surprises. No, I won’t stay. I’ll get right back, after I’ve done some business in the village.” He stood, glancing thoughtfully down at the village for some moments. Then he turned again, and a shadowy smile lit his sombre eyes.
“I’ve given out a contract for that homestead,” he went on. “Well, I’m going to cancel it. Good-bye, little girl.”
“Oh, Jim, I–––”
But the man shook his head.
“Don’t you be sorry. Get all the happiness you can. Maybe Will will be a real good husband to you.”
He moved away and strode after his horse. The beast was well out on the market-place, and Eve watched him catch it and clamber into the saddle. Then she turned away with a sigh, and found herself looking into the beautiful face of her brother. He had silently crept up to her side.
“You’ve hurt him, sis; you’ve hurt him real bad. Did you see? It was all inside. Inside here;” the boy folded his delicate hands over his hollow breast. “I know it because I feel it here, too. It’s as though you’d taken right hold of a bunch of cords here, and were pulling ’em, tearing ’em, an’ someway they’re fixed right on to your heart. That’s the way you’ve hurt him, an’ it 51 hurts me, because I like him––he’s good. You don’t know what it feels when a man’s hurt. I do. It’s elegant pain. Gee!” His calm face was quite unlit by the emotion he described. “It don’t stop at your heart. It gets right through to your muscles, and they tingle and itch to do something, and they mostly want to hurt, same as you’ve been hurt. Then it gets to the head, through the blood. That’s it; the blood gets hot, and it makes the brain hot, an’ when the brain’s hot it thinks hot thoughts, an’ they scorch an’ make you feel violent. You think hurt for some one, see? It’s all over the body alike. It’s when men get hurt like that that they want to kill. Gee! You’ve hurt him.”
The boy paused a little breathlessly. His tense nerves were quivering with some sort of mental strain. It was as though he were watching something that was going on inside himself, and the effort was tremendous, physically and mentally. But, used as Eve was to his vagaries, she saw none of this. She was thinking only